On Rye
by LithiumDoll
Summary: McGee knew he kept a straight face, he knew it. But Tony leaned forward with a narrow-eyed glare he'd probably borrowed from a Clint Eastwood marathon. "Oh, you're laughing now. Have you seen what that woman can do with a pickle?"


Abby's lab still smelled faintly of weapons grade sherbet, but after two hours of amateur dramatics and recriminations the only trace left from the exploded centrifuge disappeared as McGee wiped under the counter.

He still wasn't sure how clear mechanical error had become his fault (and possibly _sin_), but he'd stuck around to help clean up anyway – it was safer that way. Okay, so now he was behind on his reports and he'd have to stay late, but it wasn't like he'd had anything important planned for the evening; the guild made Ahn'Quiraj runs all the time. Probably.

Beside him, Tony waved a cloth around. That had pretty much been the sum total of his help, but McGee didn't really care - Abby wouldn't try and kill him with a witness in the room. Probably.

Abby took the cloth from Tony's hand and began to polish the monitors. "What Deli food does Ziva like best? Is it cheese? I bet it's cheese. Fancy cheese that smells really bad, but tastes like curdled, drained and pressed ambrosia."

Tony wandered over to the refrigeration units and peered through the glass like a spectator at a freak show. "How should I know?"

"Well, you've been getting her lunch for three weeks." McGee pointed out.

Tony studied his reflection and smoothed an eyebrow. "Your point, McGuffin?"

"Even you have to know what she likes."

"I have better things to do than memorize someone's lunch order. I have demands on my mind you have no idea about. It's lonely at the-"

Abby gave the monitor a final polish and then glared through the mirrored shine. "_Tony_."

"Right." Tony straightened and turned back around. "Rye. Chicken. Pastrami. Any non-American cheese. Salad, but she hates sun-dried tomatoes like they backed over her puppy. And she tried to kill me when she found a pickle in the box."

McGee knew he kept a straight face, he knew it. But Tony leaned forward with a narrow-eyed glare he'd probably borrowed from a Clint Eastwood marathon. "Oh, you're laughing now. Have you seen what that woman can do with a pickle? Do you want me to show you?"

He took a step back despite himself. "I'm good, thanks."

Tony held the glare a second longer, then backed up and smoothed down his tie. "Why the sudden interest in Ziva's lunchtime habits, anyway?"

Abby smiled. "Ducky's having another _soiree_, he says it's been too long. Oh, you're invited by the way."

Tony returned the smile and then frowned pensively, "Not in autopsy again, right?"

"I'm pretty sure at his house. His mom threatened to cook, so he told her everyone's heart was set on catered. Except when he explains that to Ziva, she gets polite and says anything is fine..."

McGee took over. "And you know how Ducky is about having the right food for people. They'd probably still be trying to out-polite each other if Lieutenant Peters hadn't been pushed into that ravine."

Tony raised an eyebrow. "Thank you, Lieutenant Peters, for your unpleasant but timely demise?"

McGee flushed. "That wasn't what I-"

Abby waved McGee's spluttering to silence and whapped Tony on the shoulder. "So we figured if anyone knew what she liked, it would be you. And we were right. Now we just have to let Ducky we found out with guile and cunning, so he can be sure."

Tony laughed and perched on the lab stool. "What a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive."

McGee blinked. "You've read Shakespeare?"

"Of course I've read Shakespeare. _Romeo and Juliet_. _Hamlet_. " Tony smiled happily. "_Much Ado About Nothing_."

When the paradigm-shifting shock lessened, McGee mentally ran through the titles and then rolled his eyes. "They're all plays with movie adaptations, Tony."

"Which I personally believe give new nuance to the text." Tony's expression of self-righteous academia might have been more persuasive if he hadn't been playing with Abby's stash of silly putty.

Abby grinned wickedly. "Kate Beckinsale and her soft and shapely ... nuance."

Tony let a ball of putty bounce twice and then caught it. "Anyway, Probie. It's not Shakespeare."

McGee was getting better at identifying Tony's deadpan, but Tony could still get him when he wanted to (which, now McGee thought about it, seemed to be most of the time). But Tony was joking. He had to be joking; everyone knew it was Shakespeare.

"Pretty sure it's _A Midsummer Night's Dream_." McGee couldn't quite stop himself from adding, "And I'm pretty sure they made a movie of that as well."

Tony nodded, for a moment lost in dreamy recollection. "Ninety-nine. Michelle Pfeiffer, and the lovely and talented Miss Anna Friel. Good times. Bad movie, but good times." He snapped back into focus and held a finger up. "But! It's not from A Midsummer Night's Dream, it's from _Marmion_, by one Sir Walter Scott. Lust, betrayal, honor and deception; very little weaving."

Actually, now Tony said it, McGee was starting to think he was right.

Tony waited a beat and then said with the innocence of card sharks everywhere, "Want to bet on it, little Timmy?"

McGee shook his head. "Not -- really."

"Have the courage of your convictions, McGeek!"

Tony's clap on his shoulder knocked him back but it didn't actually hurt. McGee sighed; there was no way he was getting out of this. Oh he could try but, from Tony's disturbingly anticipatory expression, that was exactly what he was hoping for.

Well, at least McGee could win in defeat. Kind of. "Fine. What?"

Tony looked a little disappointed, but rallied. "Pick up lunch from the Deli for me, one month."

McGee nodded. "Deal. Abby, can you-?"

She didn't bother to turn around from her disturbingly June Cleaver-esque dusting of the servers, let alone look it up, but she did manage something like a sympathetic tone. "It's_Marmion_, McGee." McGee would have been more inclined to buy it, if he hadn't been able to see her shoulders shaking.

"You could have told me," he accused.

Snickers under control, Abby spun back around and nodded. "I could have, but while you're getting Tony's lunch, you can pick up mine."

"And mine."

McGee turned and saw Ziva watching from the door with a slightly perplexed, mostly amused expression. He held up his hands. "Fine!"

Tony grinned and clapped him on the shoulder again. "That's the spirit, McGee! Pastrami on rye. Hold the pickle."

McGee turned back and elbowed him away. "Hey, I'll get Gibbs' as well. And Ducky's and Palmer's while I'm at it. Why don't I just start my own delivery company?!"

There was complete silence and for just a couple of brief, shining seconds, McGee wondered if he'd managed to make Tony speechless. Then another voice from the doorway said mildly, "Great - when you're all fired for standing around, you'll have a job to go to."

Ziva coughed delicately. "Also, Gibbs is waiting for us upstairs. There is a new case."

McGee winced and turned back around; Gibbs was already gone and Ziva was quickly disappearing. He jostled with Tony at the door and raced him up the corridor towards the elevator. As he jumped over the foot that sneakily came out to trip him up and retaliated with a shove, he had one clear happy thought: who knew what terrible things could accidentally happen to someone's sandwich between Deli and office?


End file.
